He moves out from the shadows of the doorway and gracefully crosses the dance floor, his gaze locked on mine. People scurry out of his way as he approaches the table, jostling each other in their hurry to give him room. He stops beside my chair. Without breaking eye contact, he holds out his hand.
When our fingers meet, that familiar zing of static electricity sparks between our skin. He clasps my hand, and I float breathlessly to my feet.
Theo leads me to the middle of the dance floor and takes me in his arms, then we stand there unmoving, staring into each other’s eyes as the music swells to a crescendo and Etta’s voice becomes the soaring soundtrack to the beating of my heart.
I say, “Hi.”
In response, he bends his head to my neck and deeply inhales.
I tighten my arms around his shoulders and hide my face against his chest, not caring that we’ve got hundreds of gaping witnesses. My heart pounds so hard, I can feel it in my fingertips. “You sure know how to make an entrance, Sunshine.”
A low rumble passes through his chest. A chuckle?
He shifts his weight, then we’re gently swaying. Our bodies pressed together, we move slowly in time to the music, as effortless as a sigh.
“I’ve missed you.”
He puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up so I’m looking at him, then taps himself on the chest and holds up two fingers. Me too.
“You seem…better.”
He slowly nods. His pupils are dilated. He blinks, and it’s as lazy as his nod.
He’s high.
Like ice water, a cold flush of horror slices through my veins. When I stiffen in his arms, he cocks his head, looking at me with half-lidded eyes.
“Theo, are you stoned right now?”
His face registers faint surprise, then he shakes his head. He mouths something, and it takes me a moment to recognize what he’s trying to say:
Meds.
He’s on medication. Why that should be such a surprise, I don’t know, because generally, when a person checks himself into a facility for hard-core psychiatric care, medication is involved.
I whisper, “Are you…are you okay?”
Smiling dreamily, he nods again. He taps his temple and makes a poof motion with his hand. If he were anyone else, I wouldn’t know what that meant, but this is the man who once told me he hears voices and sees ghosts. He’s saying they’re gone. The meds have banished them.
Must be some strong fucking meds.
Strong enough to kill demons.
Fear sinks cold fingers into my heart. The song ends, the music changes, and suddenly, everything that was so magical is jarring and strange. “I want to leave, Theo. Will you come home with me?”
When he takes my face in his hands and gently kisses me, I take it as a yes. I order him to stay right where he is, run back to the table, and tell Suzanne I’m leaving.
She sips her drink and grins. “Honey, I’m surprised you’re still here.”
“How are you gonna get home?”
She waves a hand. “Taxi. Or maybe the Joker—he’s kinda cute.” She raises her glass and toasts the bartender, sending him a wink.
I don’t bother to see if he winks back. I give her a kiss and run back to Theo, ignoring all the eyes following my every move. I grab his hand and lead him off the dance floor, snarling at anyone too slow to get out of my way.
I don’t give a shit about being polite right now. I have to be alone with this man, or I’m liable to commit murder.
The drive home takes half the time it normally would because I break every traffic law in existence. The entire time, Theo simply looks at me, stroking my hair and smiling, undisturbed even when we tear so fast around corners, the tires squeal.
I don’t like his unnatural calm. I don’t like the glassiness in his eyes, that strange new haze that has taken the place of everything that was once so sharp. I don’t like the way his right hand trembles at regular intervals, or the way his shoulders occasionally twitch, or the way he keeps swallowing, as if his mouth is dry.
There’s always a price to be paid for sanity, but in this case, I think it might be too high.
“Theo, what medication are you on?”
He reaches into his coat pocket, removes two small orange vials, and hands them to me. I flick on the overhead light and squint at the labels. One is valium—that’s probably causing the glassy eyes, but it should be out of his system by morning. The other one bears an ominously long name I’ve never seen before. It must be the demon killer causing all the twitching.
I hold that bottle up. “Is this something you’ll need to be on permanently?”
He nods.
Fuck.
I hit the light and drop the bottles into the cup holder. When I huff out a worried breath, he leans over and rests his head in my lap, nuzzling my thighs and stroking my knee, sighing in contentment. By the time we arrive at the Buttercup, he’s fast asleep.